


Carry Me Slowly, My Sunlight

by ashamedbliss



Series: Once and Future Queen [7]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Always-a-girl!Merlin, Beltane Makes Everyone Horny, Established Relationship, Everyone Loves Merlin (Merlin), F/F, F/M, Fertility kink, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderbending, Girl!Merlin, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Married Couple, Mind Manipulation, Morgana Has Questionable Morals, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Arthur, Pregnancy Kink, Pregnant Sex, Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Telepathy, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:21:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29907258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashamedbliss/pseuds/ashamedbliss
Summary: In her role as both Queen and Court Sorceress, Merlin helps King Arthur to finally release the Great Dragon, Kilgharrah, during the summer festival of Beltane.Heavy with Arthur’s child, Merlin realises that there is more than one way to celebrate the fertility festival. Thankfully, Arthur is happy to help... along with a few other familiar faces.
Relationships: Leon/Morgana (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Morgana (Merlin)
Series: Once and Future Queen [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/194849
Comments: 12
Kudos: 48
Collections: /r/FanFiction Trope Bingo Events





	Carry Me Slowly, My Sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _Sunlight_ by Hozier. Fic playlist also includes _Movement_ by Hozier and _You Know Me Too Well_ by Nothing but Thieves.
> 
> No warnings to highlight - please check the relationship tags and additional tags, and let me know if you think anything else needs tagging or highlighting. The tag for mind control does **not** relate to consent in any way, consent is clear throughout.
> 
> This... got rapidly out of hand. I blame Morgana, mostly, for being extremely horny.
> 
> Thank you to everyone on the Merlin Fic server for egging me on in writing, finishing, and finally posting this! This is my first trope fill for the r/FanFiction Trope Bingo event - trope in end notes. Enjoy! <3

There’s something about the forest that brings Merlin’s magic to life.

The usual gentle thrum of it in her veins turns to song as they ride deeper and deeper into the rich woodland that surrounds Camelot. Looking up from her saddle, Merlin can still see glimpses of the bright blue sky between the leaves, a warm Spring breeze tickling the fine hairs on her arms. The scent of the forest is heady; a shower late last night has helped the flora release its earthy smell, and Merlin takes a deep breath in to enjoy it all.

“Everything okay?” Arthur asks from his horse beside hers. Hengroen and Llamrei trot side by side, heads nodding gently, even though Hengroen is several hands taller.

“I was just breathing, Arthur,” Merlin says. “Am I allowed to breathe?”

Arthur snorts. “You should be lucky that I’ve even let you ride in your condition.”

Merlin rolls her eyes, but takes one hand from her reins to rest it on the crest of her belly. Nearly half a year has passed since Yule, and her discovery of being with child. Even as it is now, she rides side saddle, but if Arthur had had his way, she would have been wrapped in bundles of silk and carried all the way here by his knights.

“How many times to I have to tell you, _sire_ ,” she intones, knowing exactly the effect it has on Arthur, “that if I were to fall, my magic would catch me before I even realised myself?”

Arthur sighs. “Too many times,” he mutters. He wears a simple white tunic, a dagger hanging from his leather belt. His knights surround them as they ride through the woodland, passing peasants and subjects of Camelot who are also on their way to the Beltane festivities. “Though you do realise--”

“—that I am possibly carrying the heir to the throne, yes, I _know_ ,” Merlin drawls, and the baby kicks as if it knows it’s being spoken about. The dragon had not yet told her whether she was having a boy or a girl, and her magic was unable to disentangle itself from her inner wishes; she hopes for a boy, to ensure succession if anything happened to either of them.

Merlin’s hand clutches the reins again and she swallows, pushing that thought far from her head on this most merry of days. Arthur, even with his ever-pervasive gazes, misses this moment as he gives orders to Leon who rides to his right.

They emerge into a huge meadow, wildflowers blooming in hundreds of colours around them. Several tents have sprung up in a circle around the clearing, a May pole being prepared off to one side. The sunshine is warm on Merlin’s bare arms, her white linen dress catching in the gentle breeze that rolls through the meadow. Arthur dismounts swiftly, throwing one leg over the Hengroen’s neck in the way the knights often do, to face their threats immediately. Merlin laughs at the sight, wondering what threats are out here celebrating the coming of Summer, but takes Arthur’s offered arms anyway as he lifts her down from her saddle. His hands are warm and sure through the thin fabric of her dress, and he takes advantage of the moment to touch her stomach.

“Are you sure you’re up for today?” he murmurs in her ear, pressing a kiss to the skin there. “We could sneak into the forest and I could take care of you all afternoon, like all the townsfolk usually do on Beltane.”

Merlin tries her hardest not to melt under Arthur’s words. After the initial sickness of her pregnancy had subsided some months ago, she’d spent most of her time in some state of arousal, her magic also powerful in her veins yet not quelling the need within her. Arthur also wasn’t helping; he was clearly extremely proud of the fact that he’d done this to her, that his seed had caused this change in her.

“Arthur... people are watching,” Merlin says, tipping her face up to meet Arthur’s. Her hair is twisted up into a knot on top of her head to keep the heat off her neck, blue eyes bright but hooded. A silver necklace studded with jewels circles her throat, and Arthur thumbs at it, a reminder.

“Let them watch,” Arthur mutters. “I can’t wait to take you apart later, kiss by kiss, breath by breath, our own celebration of fertility.” Merlin mewls quietly and Arthur kisses her with the softest of touches.

“Sire,” Leon says from a distance away, clearing his throat. The meadow and its clamour return into sharp focus, and Merlin breathes once more as Arthur steps away. “The scouts report that the dragon is approaching.”

“Thank you, Leon.” Arthur takes Merlin’s hand, and they leave the horses and squires behind. The long grass caresses Merlin’s ankles as they cross the meadow to where a small stage has been erected, complete with two wooden thrones and set under a tented canopy. Leon trails behind them, and places a long bundle wrapped in blankets on the table before the chairs. The court of Camelot is gathered in small crowds to either side of the tent, and Merlin spies Morgana in the throng, dressed in a lilac gown. She nods and smiles in recognition.

“And you’re sure--”

“Arthur, I swear to the gods,” Merlin says lowly, rounding on the King with one finger pointing towards him. “If you ask me _one more time_ if I’m ready for today, you will not touch me for the rest of our living days.”

She holds his gaze, her shoulders rising and falling, face flushed, as she tries to control this outburst of anger. Leon shifts by the table, having caught her words, but the rest of the gathered townsfolk continue with their own conversations.

Arthur’s eyes flick down to the set of her mouth, before lowering still to her neck and her cleavage, where a bead of sweat is ready to disappear between her heavy breasts. His eyes return to hers. “Alright.” He nods, one corner of his mouth twitching.

Merlin softens, her hand lowering to rest against Arthur’s chest. “I’m sorry, it’s...” She gestures to her belly.

“It’s fine, Merlin,” Arthur says, cupping her cheek, lifting her face. “I love you, even if that threat is really quite unforgivable.”

Merlin grins, before she looks up as the meadow is thrown into shadow. “He’s here.”

Kilgharrah momentarily eclipses the sun as he circles the clearing, several women gasping and men pointing to the sky in fear. The huge chains between his front legs jangle as he hovers in the middle of the clearing, before lowing himself to the ground with a thud that startles nearby birds out of the trees.

“Queen Merlin,” Kilgharrah croons, bowing his head to her in recognition of her status as the daughter of a dragonlord. Almost as an afterthought, he bows to Arthur. “Arthur.”

Arthur is wise to not mention the neglect of his title in the dragon’s greeting, and Merlin beams, taking his hand; their rehearsals of this ceremony had not gone entirely to waste.

Kilgharrah stretches his neck, flapping his wings gently as not to blow away the tents. “It was a wise choice, conducting this on Beltane, the festival of fertility and new beginnings,” he says, before lowering his head to eye Merlin’s belly, her dress making it seem even larger than normal. “The little Pendragon will never know the darkness that befell this kingdom before Arthur began his rule.”

Merlin squeezes Arthur’s hand as the townspeople gather closer, silently, trying to hear what the dragon has to say. “Let’s start, Arthur,” she whispers as Kilgharrah laughs, puffs of smoke drifting from his nostrils as he does so, sitting back on his haunches and surveying the meadow.

“Citizens of Camelot,” Arthur says loudly, his voice echoing around the clearing. “Today marks the end of an era of secrecy and persecution, and the beginning of hope and peace that will be felt across all of Albion.”

Merlin watches Arthur as he speaks, remembering his frustration at not being able to find the right words as he’d been scrawling them on parchment in their chambers. _Speak from your heart, Arthur_ , she’d told him. _You’ll find the words there that you need_.

“Kilgharrah, the Great Dragon, has been imprisoned under Camelot for decades, while my father lived in fear of magic,” Arthur continues, gesturing at the beast before them. The sun beats down on them all, and the hair at his temples is damp with sweat. “I, too, could have lived and ruled that way. But then... but then I met Merlin.”

Merlin’s eyes go wide. Arthur hadn’t even hinted at mentioning her while he spent hours tossing parchment after parchment into the fire. He walks towards her and takes her hand again.

“Queen Merlin taught me that magic is like sunlight; it brings us happiness and joy, and it helps us to grow. It was Kilgharrah’s prophecy that magic would unite Albion, that Merlin and I were destined to be together, that Camelot will one day know a ruler who embraces magic with their whole heart.” Arthur looks down to Merlin’s belly. “Now, it is time that we repaid the favour.”

Arthur drops Merlin’s hand, stepping towards Leon. He unbuckles his dagger belt and lets it fall to the table before pulling his shirt off over his head. Momentarily, Merlin forgets her next steps in all of this, because Arthur’s chest is shining with a thin film of sweat and is flushed a wonderful golden brown.

“Merlin?”

It’s full of warmth, and when Merlin looks up at Arthur’s face, a smirk is barely repressed on his lips. “All yours,” he promises quietly as she places her hands firmly on his chest. With a shaky breath, she closes her eyes to incant the spell that will protect him from the magical fire she is about to conjure.

Shocked gasps carry on the breeze to her, and Merlin opens her eyes to find that Arthur is literally glowing, a golden aura radiating from his skin. “If that doesn’t help them believe magic is harmless, there’s nothing that will convince them,” Arthur mutters, and Merlin looks down at her own hands. The spell hadn’t done that in practice; the presence of Kilgharrah and the ancient forest surrounding them was amplifying her already-heightened magic.

She finds herself very pleased now that she’d insisted on the protection spell, knowing what’s coming.

Leon unwraps Excalibur from its blankets, handing it to Arthur. There’s something wonderful about the way Arthur holds it up for all to see, from the sunlight glinting from its golden hilt to the magical runes inscribed on it. Arthur and Merlin step towards Kilgharrah, who watches them steadily.

“With this sword,” Arthur says, and Merlin wonders if she’s imagining the shake in his voice. Her magic is tingling in her fingertips, a crescendo gathering at the base of her spine, and the baby fidgeting incessantly. Her eyes must be burning gold, if the look on Arthur’s face is anything to go by. He turns his head to the dragon. “With this sword, which you enchanted with your own magic, and that Merlin will now fill with hers, I break the last of your chains, and you shall know true freedom.”

Arthur grips the hilt tightly, adopting a fighting stance, and suddenly Merlin realises that the trepidation on his face is not for the dragon, or what he’s about to do, but for the fire now gathering between her hands. She gives every ounce of her concentration to this spell, not allowing her innate fear of fire to stop her from doing what is right and just and long overdue.

Merlin had warned Arthur that this magic fire would not be the same as the fire that would burn in bonfires later this evening for Beltane. Instead, this fire burns almost gold and makes Merlin’s limbs tremble as she tries to cradle it in her own arms. It roars, and the heat it gives off makes her sweat, makes her want to screw her eyes shut against the power of it.

“That will do, young witch. That’s enough,” Kilgharrah soothes as Merlin struggles to breathe, all of her exertion going into the spell between her fingers. Alongside the roaring, there is a crackling in the air, the hairs on her arms standing on end. In her peripheral vision, Arthur’s eyes are wide, but his mouth is pressed into a firm line.

“I can’t control it,” Merlin gasps out, snapping her eyes away from the inferno of her creation to Kilgharrah’s gaze, golden like her own.

“You control the magic, Merlin. The magic does not control you.”

With a shout of effort, Merlin reins the spell in, pouring the magic into the sword before her. Arthur braces against the force of it as the sword bursts into flame, almost too bright to look at.

Gulping down air, Merlin wipes a hand against her brow to clear the sweat there. With the sword held aloft, Arthur carefully steps closer to Kilgharrah’s front paws, still chained together with rusted cold iron. The dragon looks uncomfortable but does not back away, forming an uneasy truce with the Pendragon stood within lunging distance.

Arthur pulls the sword over his shoulder and swings with everything he has, his muscles rippling under his glowing skin, the flaming blade slicing easily through the chain. The manacles, recognising that their magic has been severed, fall away from Kilgharrah’s front legs with a thud into the grass.

Cheers fill the meadow as Kilgharrah sits back on his haunches once more and rears, bellowing fire into the air, his newly freed front paws scratching up towards the clouds. The fire on the sword dies away, and Arthur throws it to the ground to rush to Merlin, his glow diminishing.

“Are you alright? You looked--”

“I’m fine, Arthur,” Merlin breathes, rubbing her belly, their child having finally settled down again after its kicking during the spell. “Just... very warm, tired, and hungry.”

Arthur laughs, relieved. “Nothing that can’t be rectified with a feast and watching people make fools of themselves at the maypole, then.” He wraps an arm around Merlin’s shoulders before he turns to Kilgharrah. “I--”

“I have some things to say, before I take my leave,” Kilgharrah says, craning his head down to Arthur and Merlin’s level once more. The townsfolk start to turn away, the spectacle over, as they continue preparing for the festivities. Merlin leans into Arthur, his chest too warm against her shoulder; she’s not entirely trusting of her ability to stand on her own.

“ _The Once and Future Queen_ ,” Kilgharrah says in the dragon language. “ _My sister. As you are not a full dragon lord, I am not bound to your call_ ,” he explains. Merlin nods and feels Arthur’s eyes on her, trying to understand the foreign conversation.

“ _I understand_ ,” Merlin replies. It comes easily to her, though she has never studied it, tucked away under her tongue.

“ _But_ ,” Kilgharrah continues. “ _I respect your position as the Queen of a fair and just Camelot. Though I am not bound to come, should you need my help, call for me and I will return_.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Merlin says, bowing her head.

“King Arthur,” Kilgharrah then says in English, and Arthur turns his attention to the dragon with a barely-concealed expression of shock on his face. “You are not your father, so it turns out, and thus you have earned my respect. I should hope that, in the years to come, your son is as good of a king as you are.”

Merlin watches the delight spread across Arthur’s face, as she is sure it spreads over hers, a perfect mirror. “Do you mean...?” Arthur asks, giddy.

“Our Merlin carries not only the Crown Prince of Camelot, but also Albion’s newest dragonlord,” Kilgharrah says with narrowed eyes. “Be sure that he knows of this day, and that he never fears dragons, nor his magic.”

With that, Kilgharrah leaps into the air, beating his wings so powerfully that Merlin clings to Arthur for support. Within seconds, he’s hundreds of yards above them, and barely spares a glance back towards the meadow as he flies away over the forest.

“Do you think he’ll come back?” Merlin asks in a small voice. Arthur’s hands are under her elbows as he turns her to face him, and the soft possessiveness of the gesture is nearly overwhelming.

“I’m sure he’ll want to meet the next dragonlord,” Arthur says, stooping and pressing his forehead against hers. “A boy, Merlin. We’re having a _boy_.”

“That would explain why my magic has been so potent these last few months,” Merlin muses, as Arthur closes his eyes and smiles. “Dragonlords are the most powerful of sorcerers and sorceresses.”

Within moments, Arthur has scooped Merlin easily into his arms. “Hey!” Merlin shrieks, half-laughing, half-drowning in the heat that still radiates from Arthur’s fire-warmed chest. “A bit of warning next time, please,” she says meekly.

Arthur flashes her a grin before lowering his head to press a kiss to the crest of her belly. “I would carry you everywhere if I could, Merlin,” Arthur says as he sets out towards the stage and thrones once more. “But Leon would insist that I do _kingly duties_ at some point,” he says with mock disdain. “Speak of the devil.”

Leon stands by the thrones, Excalibur once more wrapped in her blankets and Arthur’s tunic in his hands. Gently, Arthur lowers Merlin so she can sit down on her throne, now in the blessed shade of the tent canopy. With a small pout on her face which she knows Arthur notices, she watches her husband put his tunic on once more, buckling his dagger belt around his hips with sure fingers.

“I have your crowns,” Leon says once Arthur is seated next to Merlin. Arthur’s hand drifts to Merlin’s instinctively, and they link little fingers, too warm to hold hands properly. His wedding ring sears against her flesh. “As befitting the Beltane King and Queen, of course.”

Merlin arches her eyebrows. “Aren’t the King and Queen meant to be decided by the townsfolk?”

Leon laughs, and Merlin realises he’s quite handsome when he does so; she’s too used to seeing him so serious. Perhaps Beltane lightens everyone’s mood. “Oh, it was. They voted for you before you were even casting your magic just then,” he says with a smile. “Guinevere, will you fit Merlin with hers?”

Guinevere appears from around the edge of the tent, dipping into a quick curtsy. Merlin had specifically requested Guinevere as her maidservant, but on the condition that Gwen had to want to come willingly; both were as happy as each other to be spending time together once more. “Merlin,” she says. “You looked quite something doing your spell.”

Guinevere carries a crown made from flowers in her hands, a delicate palette of cornflowers, white roses, daisies, and lilies. “Gods. That’s far too pretty for me to wear,” Merlin says, sitting up slowly on her throne. She drops Arthur’s hand to reach towards the crown, but Gwen smiles knowingly and withdraws it slightly.

“Too pretty to have too many hands touching them, my lady,” Gwen chirps, lifting it instead to nestle it into Merlin’s hair, around the twist she had wrapped her curls into this morning.

“I want you to celebrate Beltane properly, Gwen,” Merlin says. “I won’t need your services for the rest of the day.” She glances aside at Arthur, already in a heated conversation with Leon about something or the other, and she pulls Gwen closer by her shoulder. “I want you to find that Lance you’re so fond of and drag him off into the forest,” she whispers into Gwen’s ear.

Gwen turns her head and tries to school her expression, but Merlin knows she’s shocked. Merlin’s almost shocked herself at her forward discussion of intimate affairs. “My lady, I--”

“You think that the rest of us won’t be doing the same?” Merlin asks before she can stop herself. Her own mouth pops open and she covers it with a hand. “Forgive me, Gwen, I spoke out of turn.”

Gwen presses her lips together, trying but failing not to smile. Eventually she gives over to giggles, and Merlin does the same, remembering that they were best friends, once upon a time. “Thank you, Merlin,” she says, stepping backwards. “Those flowers look lovely,” she announces as she leaves, and Arthur stops arguing with Leon to look at Merlin.

Merlin looks back to see that Arthur’s head has been adorned with a crown made from shaped twigs and sticks, with two antlers giving Arthur a striking appearance. “Wow,” Merlin mouths, barely giving voice to it.

“You look beautiful,” Arthur says, taking Merlin’s outstretched hand and pressing a kiss to her fingers. “Leon, meanwhile, insists I have to wear this monstrosity,” he says with a roll of his eyes, using his other hand to gesture towards his head.

“I like it,” Merlin says, squeezing Arthur’s hand. “You look...”

She finds she doesn’t quite know how to describe the way those antlers and wild foliage make Arthur look. There’s something fae and ethereal about it, as if he’s just strode from the forest to join the humans in their summer communion. It makes him look wild, feral perhaps. Intimidating.

Merlin’s lips have gone dry. “Powerful,” she manages, throat nearly closed. She can’t help but bite her lip; the thought of Arthur as some wild being, half-man half-beast, empties her head of all of her words.

Arthur’s eyes are dark. “Leon, please fetch my manservant. And it’s high time the festivities and dancing started, don’t you think?”

Merlin settles back into her throne, the cushions beneath her body making the chair much more comfortable than it has any right to be. Absentmindedly, she rubs her belly in slow circles. She can feel Arthur’s gaze lingering on her skin as her eyes scan the meadow, the maypole now erected in the middle of the clearing where Kilgharrah had flattened the grass not an hour earlier, his chains cleared away.

“Did you know, Merlin,” Arthur says in that tone of voice Merlin has learnt is dangerous, “that maypoles themselves are a symbol of fertility?”

Merlin stares steadily on at the dancers assembling in the meadow, laughter drifting over to the tent. She does not give Arthur the puzzling look she knows he craves. It has been a while since they have played any game of give and take, and in her exhausted condition she will happily play a mental game, for now.

“Oh?” she says with an air of feigned boredom.

Arthur leans towards her, and she can sense his presence close at her side. “Well.” His deep voice is doing nothing to dampen Merlin’s arousal, and his breath tumbles over her skin. “The maypole represents man. I’m sure you know which bit of man, _Mer_ lin,” he drawls, putting a hand to her stomach, and Merlin finally turns her head to meet his eyes.

“No, I don’t think I do,” she smiles, innocence brightening her tone.

“Your eyes are still golden,” Arthur whispers, his own eyes darting between hers. “What magic are you casting on me now, my Queen? I assure you, I’m already under your spell.”

Merlin giggles more from Arthur’s pompous choice of words than his sentiment, barely refraining from rolling her eyes. “I haven’t an ounce of magic left in me right now,” she says. “If they are, it’s because of using so much of it earlier. I’m exhausted.”

“I’ll have to take extra good care of you, then,” Arthur says, taking her wrist in one of his large hands and pressing a kiss to the veins on the inside of it.

“Arthur,” Merlin sighs, his name sacred. “We really should watch the dancers.”

“Sire, my lady,” George announces as he arrives in the tent with a platter of food. Arthur barely sits up from where he has been crowding Merlin. Merlin has known George since she was a servant herself, and she knows the man’s loyalty is unwavering.

“Thank you, George,” Arthur says. “Make sure the bundle is ready before sundown.”

“Yes sire.” He deposits the platter on a small table next to Arthur’s throne and leaves them in peace.

“Bundle?” Merlin asks quietly. The corner of Arthur’s lips twitch with amusement as he rips a chunk of bread from its whole. One hand goes to Merlin’s jaw, while the other feeds her the bite of bread. She takes the offering onto her tongue, too hungry by far to eat this slowly but enjoying the blissful feeling of being waited on.

“Don’t worry about it, my love,” Arthur says, watching her chew. “You don’t have to worry about anything today.” He feeds her another morsel of bread, and she licks it from his fingers. “Let me take care of you today, you’ve worked so hard.”

Merlin lets herself be fed with bread and cheese and apple, lazily watching the dancers wrap the maypole in a hundred different colours. In the distance, she recognises Morgana in her lilac dress, standing a little too closely to Leon.

She would ask Arthur about that, but she finds that her eyelids are growing heavy, her belly full of both food and babe, and she drifts to sleep.

*

Merlin feels herself moving, air brushing past her, and she tries to chase the dream she was having. Was she kissing someone? She remembers that there being people watching, crowding around her. She’s aware of being held in strong arms, darkness beyond her eyelids.

“Sleep, my darling,” his voice croons into her ear, and it settles over her like a blanket.

She lets herself be carried, knowing she is safe.

*

When Merlin wakes again, still from that same dream, it is decidedly less pleasant. She sees the fire before she registers the heat, but when she opens her mouth to scream, no sound comes out.

Hands are on her arms from behind her, away from the huge fire, the other person shielded by her own body. “Shhh, Merlin, you’re safe. It’s okay.” Merlin tries to shuffle backwards, but finds herself pressed against another. “It can’t hurt you, Merlin. It’s enchanted.”

Chest heaving, Merlin clutches a hand to her stomach, feeling for the baby under her dress; he kicks once and then settles. As her heart stops thundering in her ears, she finally tears her eyes away from the hypnotic dance of the flames before her to look around for that source of comfort. “Morgana?”

“I’m here,” Morgana reassures, eyes soft. Merlin realises her hands are moving up and down her bare arms, goosebumps rising in their wake. “I know about the fire, the one in Ealdor, so I made sure this one can’t hurt us. See how the flames go straight up?”

Merlin looks back at the flames reluctantly to realise that they are perfectly orderly, like Arthur’s knights in rank and file, and that the heat that they give out is perfectly comfortable. As she looks up and around them, Merlin notices that the sun must have set a long time ago, for the stars span brilliantly above in the night sky. She and Morgana are sat on blankets and cushions in some small clearing in the forest, and not the meadow she fell asleep in, with its thrones and tents and people.

“Where’s Arthur?”

Morgana laughs, a delicate thing, and Merlin turns to look at her face again. Her hair falls in soft waves around her face, and her breath smells faintly of wine. Merlin realises that she is pressed up against Morgana, her back to her chest, and she finds comfort in the warmth of her embrace that has little to do with the fire.

“He and Leon had to attend to something back in the meadow where the townsfolk were celebrating earlier. We had come here for a little bit of privacy, as members of the court.” Does Merlin imagine the emphasis on _privacy_? “Arthur carried you and everything. Refused to wake you to put you on a horse or, Gods forbid, make you walk a few hundred yards.”

Joy curls onto Merlin’s face in the form of a smile. “That sounds like Arthur.”

Morgana laughs again, rolling her eyes. “Yes, an overprotective, lovestruck idiot,” she says fondly. “Let’s get this crown out of your hair. It must be pulling on your scalp.”

Gentle, nimble fingers extricate the flowers from around Merlin’s head. “They’re so beautiful,” Merlin mumbles as Morgana places them into her hands. She thumbs at the petals, finally aloud to touch them. “Thank you.”

“Relax a little, Merlin,” Morgana purrs. “I saw what you conjured for Kilgharrah’s chains. Very impressive. It must’ve taken a lot of magic.”

Merlin laughs, resting a little more of her weight against Morgana, a steady brace. “I still feel so tired.”

She tries not to jump when, the next time Morgana talks to her, it’s inside her head. _Let’s talk like this instead. No need to speak out loud._

 _I’ve told you before, I find this quite weird_ , Merlin replies. Morgana coaxes her hair down out of the intricate twist Guinevere had placed it in that morning and begins to tease out the knots.

 _Yes, but it also means the boys can’t hear us talk of magic. You know they are still a little fearful, even if they don’t show it_. Merlin doesn’t need to see Morgana’s face to know that she’s rolling her eyes.

Merlin closes her own eyes, listening to the popping of logs in the bonfire and the sounds of the birds in the forest around them. Morgana’s quiet breathing is relaxing, only punctuated now and then by the sound of a distant giggle or dubious shout echoing through the trees.

She begins thinking about Beltane evenings she’s celebrated in the past, before remembering that Morgana is listening to her thoughts.

 _Tell me about that one,_ Morgana says inside her head, _and I’ll tell you one of mine_.

Morgana’s fingertips are against her scalp now, soothing the pain where her hair has changed direction, allowed to relax towards the ground again. The ministrations are not unwelcome, and Merlin relaxes further into her pliant body, one hand casually resting on her stomach. The boy must be sleeping, as for once he is still.

 _I was sixteen or maybe seventeen, so it wasn’t long ago_ , Merlin starts thinking. She lets the images take over for her, knowing Morgana can see them. The blond stable hand who had worked for the blacksmith in Ealdor, the way they’d both been keeping clear of the bonfires that night, for he too was scared of fire; he’d been Will’s friend a long time ago as well. He’d been eyeing Merlin for weeks but was too shy to do anything, so she’d grabbed his hand and all but dragged him into the woods, pressing him against a tree and...

Merlin notices that Morgana’s breathing has quickened, shallow now behind her. Those fingers in her hair have moved down towards her neck, ghosting softly across her skin.

 _And then?_ is all Morgana has to ask.

Merlin bites her lip, swallowing. She shifts her legs, realising that she’s grown slick between them, able to feel a faint pulse there. _Where did Arthur and Leon go, again?_

 _To the meadow_ , Morgana replies, and Merlin hear the smirk before she turns around to see it. “Why,” Morgana asks out loud. “Do you think they’re off celebrating Beltane together?” She raises one eyebrow and it makes Merlin’s stomach drop.

Merlin laughs, though. “If they are, it would be Arthur doing it to Leon. Arthur’s made it very clear to me how he feels about _that_ ,” she replies, but before the thought is finished, she sees the image in Morgana’s mind over this psychic tether they share, Leon bent over before Arthur, Arthur’s rough hands across his skin.

“It’s Beltane, after all,” Morgana murmurs, voice low. Another cry, this time of pleasure, comes from somewhere in the forest around them. “The festival of love-making and fertility, and you, Merlin, are very much the embodiment of fertility tonight.”

Morgana’s words continue to send Merlin spiralling. She’s not sure if it’s the amount of magic in her veins tonight, or this closeness they’re sharing, or even the way Morgana now cups one of Merlin’s cheeks as she speaks to her. She flushes deeply, and even by the firelight she’s sure Morgana can see it. “Morgana.” It’s barely voiced, but if Morgana can’t hear it, it’s taken from her mind anyway.

“Haven’t you ever wondered?” Morgana breathes between them. The fire reflects in her eyes, pupils wide and dark. Her lips are parted just so as she looks at Merlin, and Merlin realises she probably looks the same, cheeks rosy and eyes bright.

“Wondered what?” Merlin asks, but she already knows the answer. She reads it in Morgana’s thoughts; the softness of another woman’s jaw against her own, the cupping of a breast, a hand tracing a curved hip. Merlin realises it’s Guinevere she’s seeing against Morgana in these visions, but finds that it’s no surprise after all.

“That,” Morgana says. She strokes Merlin’s cheekbone. “What it can feel like with someone who understands your body as well as her own.”

“I--” Merlin starts, before her magic reaches out before her, predicting her words, pursuing its own pleasure. It skims under Morgana’s lilac dress, racing up the inside of her legs, seeking. Morgana jumps, eyebrows high, and Merlin sputters. “Gods, I’m sorry, I--”

Morgana brings her face close, brushing her lips against Merlin’s. It sends Merlin’s magic stuttering out around them, pressing up to and colliding against Morgana’s, less powerful but still present. Gently, Morgana moves Merlin so she’s lying on her back, against a heap of pillows and cushions. She breaks the kiss to lie at Merlin’s side, not wanting to put pressure on her stomach, before capturing her mouth again.

Merlin lets her eyes fall shut, the scent of Morgana’s perfume a sweet contrast to the musk of the wood smoke. Arthur is never this gentle in his ministrations, never so soft and innocent, always pursuing those end means. Morgana’s hand creeps to the front of Merlin’s dress, unlacing the fabric barely containing her swollen breasts. “I can’t wait to be like you, Merlin,” Morgana murmurs against her mouth. Merlin gasps as her fingers, a little cold, brush against a nipple, already peaked. “Full of babe, with Leon waiting around every corner to admire his handiwork.”

Remembering she has hands herself, Merlin touches her fingertips to Morgana’s neck, skirting them down towards her cleavage, accentuated in her flimsy dress. Morgana’s breath shudders, tumbling across her hand and wrist as Merlin draws patterns on her skin.

“I don’t know if it’s the magic,” Merlin finds herself saying, “or the baby, or Beltane, or...” she shakes her head minutely, before looking into Morgana’s eyes again. “But I’m constantly... _wanting_.”

“Really?” It’s hardly said like a question, hunger in Morgana’s tone, her eyes dark.

“Even...” Merlin blushes at this, even as Morgana’s hands cup her breasts fully, thumbs playing with her nipples. “Even Arthur can’t keep up, some days. I need it so badly.”

“Can I help?” Morgana asks in a voice so sweet that it makes Merlin moan. As Morgana moves on the blankets, Merlin hikes up her dress, knowing that her undergarments will be soaked through. A pleasant shock runs through her body at the sight of Morgana between her legs, her jaw slightly slack, staring up at Merlin. “Gods, Merlin...”

“I know,” Merlin chokes. “Arthur always says I get so wet, but now it’s nearly unbearable. I need...”

“Hush, it’s okay,” Morgana soothes. She whispers a few words, and Merlin’s dress and undergarments disappear, leaving her entirely naked save for the jewellery around her neck. Gooseflesh rises across her skin, but the temperature of the fire and fading summer heat in the ground below the blanket keep her warm. Over the crest of her belly, she sees Morgana reach out towards the apex of her thighs, where she aches to be touched.

There’s movement in the bushes, and Arthur and Leon break into the clearing. “Merlin, I--”

Arthur stops dead in his tracks, taking in the scene: Merlin naked, Morgana’s one hand possessively on Merlin’s thigh with the other reaching towards her cunt, Merlin’s own hands on her breasts, her partly opened mouth, swollen from kissing.

“Hello, brother,” Morgana says from where she’s on her hands and knees. Her fingers finally touch Merlin’s clit, and it makes Merlin’s hips twitch upwards, chasing the pressure. “Seeing as you and Leon had better things to be doing, we thought we’d get started on the Beltane festivities.” Her voice drips of the sarcasm that is the undercurrent to every interaction with her brother. Merlin has always been amused by it, and now it’s so clear, the chasm between them; Morgana, playful and daring, Arthur, protective and sure.

Arthur exchanges a glance with Leon, stepping forward. As he does so, Morgana runs a finger up and down the length of Merlin’s opening, tearing a long, guttural moan from Merlin.

“Please,” Merlin begs to Morgana, while she looks at Arthur, the dilemma evident on his face. “I need it so badly.”

“Why don’t you watch for a while?” Morgana asks darkly, looking to where her king and her lover stand shoulder to shoulder. Leon’s focus is purely on Morgana, the way her breasts nearly spill from her dress, the way her arse is raised high in the air. “It must be _exhausting_ having to look after Merlin all the time, no?”

Arthur clears his throat. “She’s mine.”

Yet, he does not move towards Merlin.

Morgana smirks with a huff of a laugh, letting one finger slide inside Merlin. “Arthur, you should see, no, _feel_ how wet she is,” she says, before turning back to Merlin. “I can’t understand why it took him so long to get you pregnant, dear sister. If I had a cock, you would’ve been full of my seed within hours of meeting you.”

Leon’s resolve breaks first. He strides over to Morgana, kneeling on the ground behind her and blanketing her with his body, nosing at her neck. “You are such a _tease_ ,” he growls before she turns and kisses him, her finger still inside Merlin, still working at her.

“Arthur,” Merlin calls to her King, who is stoic and torn between watching his wife be pleasured and wanting her only to himself.

Finally, his darker side wins, as Merlin had hoped it would, and he walks forward, all but falling to his knees at her side. “Merlin.” It’s a prayer and a vow all in one, rolling off his tongue.

“I need you,” Merlin says. She reaches out with her magic, coiling it around him as tightly as she feels coiled, a lion ready to pounce. “I _want_ you.”

“Merlin,” Arthur says again, a whine, before he turns to Morgana. “Morgana, release her from your spell.”

Morgana laughs throatily. “You think I have her under a spell?” She twists her fingers once more and then drags them out of Merlin. Leon pulls Morgana fully back into his lap, grinding her body down against his. “I was... Gods, I was under hers.”

Arthur grabs Merlin’s calves and hefts her towards him, away from Leon and Morgana’s passionate embrace. “You can look, but you cannot touch, Morgana. Leon,” he warns, almost as an afterthought to include her lover, his right-hand man, too. Turning back towards Merlin, he brushes some stray hairs away from her face, makes sure she is settled comfortably into the cushions. “Look how I look after her. She’s mine.”

This is said as Arthur looks straight into her eyes. He pulls his tunic off in a hurry, unbuckling his dagger belt and setting it aside. Merlin is transported back to that very morning, when Arthur had held her magic in his hands and freed Kilgharrah with it. His skin still gleams with the faintest traces of her spell even now, hours later.

Morgana moans loudly, and Merlin rolls her head to the side to see that she’s gathered her dress up against her, to give admission to one of Leon’s working between her legs from behind.

“That’s because of you, Merlin,” Arthur says, hands finding Merlin’s breasts. Merlin loves the look on his face, as if he hasn’t done this a thousand times already, as if he’s a young prince again, playing at being a man for the first time with some tavern wench. It’s a look that she alone owns now, that only she holds the key to unlock. “Gods, you look so good like this.”

Merlin can hardly think, she’s so desperate, so strung out for Arthur. “Tell me.”

“Fuck,” Arthur says, shaking his head in disbelief. He releases one breast to fumble at the laces of his breeches, shoving them down and taking his cock in hand. “Your tits, Merlin, they’re so big. All day, I was half scared, half... half _delirious_ that you’d fall out of your dress. They’re so heavy, so...” He bites his lip, working himself with practiced strokes. Merlin reaches for him, but he bats her hands away. “Didn’t I say I would look after you today? Let me.”

“Yes, sire,” falls from Merlin’s lips, the old routine. Her magic sings in her veins, still tugging at Arthur insistently, nearly exhausted as it is.

Arthur’s hand goes down to her belly, protectively stroking it. “Knowing that I did this to you...” he says, shuddering with a groan. His strokes slow, and Merlin knows that he must be close, already so far gone. “The whole of Camelot looked at you today, and knew that you belong to me, that I fucked a baby into you, the next dragonlord, the next _king_.”

“Arthur,” Merlin pants, because she can tell, as Arthur grits his teeth and throws his head back, that he’s likely to fall from the precipice he’s clinging to. “Fuck me, Arthur. Make love to me.”

“On your knees,” Arthur growls, and Merlin’s toes curl at the command in those words. With his guiding hands, Merlin manoeuvres herself so she’s bent onto her elbows in front of him, her belly nearly touching the blankets, forehead on the ground.

“Please,” Merlin begs again as Arthur draws his cock up and down her cunt before it’s evidently too much for him as well, because he soon sinks forwards and buries himself inside Merlin.

She snaps her head up at it. Merlin’s answering groan is so loud, it stops Leon and Morgana in their tracks, Morgana on her back, dress hiked up, her legs over Leon’s shoulders.

“Look how I worship her,” Arthur says, and although Merlin can’t see his face, she knows exactly what kind of possessive look she would find there if she could. He pulls back and thrusts in again, and Merlin chokes out another moan. “Look how we fit together. Two sides of the same coin.”

Merlin brushes her hair back to watch Morgana and Leon, the way Leon pushes into Morgana, staring down at her, but how Morgana’s eyes are on Merlin. Their eyes lock and Merlin shudders, her magic vibrating around her.

It alerts her to the presence of more people in the clearing. Just within reach of the light of the bonfire, she can see faces of half a dozen onlookers, maybe more. She sees Lance and Gwen, their faces flushed and Lance’s tunic on inside out. Gwaine murmurs into the ear of some young girl, but their eyes are all on Arthur giving Merlin everything he has, everything she needs. She realises that this is who Arthur has been performing to, and it makes her skin tingle, flushed simultaneously with shame and potent desire.

“Touch me, sire,” Merlin whines. Arthur is immediate, blunt fingers manipulating Merlin’s clit in such a well-practiced manner that he knows exactly how her hips will stutter, how she’ll arch her back and keen for him.

“And even after you have this babe,” Arthur grinds out, and Merlin knows he’s close, hears the obscene slap of their skin lose its rhythm. “I’ll fuck you full with another, then plug you up to keep my seed inside of you, always making sure you’re... you’re...”

Arthur doesn’t finish his sentence. His hands grip Merlin’s hips as he pulls her back against his body and comes with a strangled gasp. It echoes around the clearing in the form of other couples caressing each other while staring longingly at their king and queen, wanting to be them in every way possible. Merlin hears Leon’s choked cry as he comes, Morgana’s breathy moans cresting shortly after.

Arthur wastes no time in sitting back on his heels and pulling Merlin into his lap. She rests her head back against his shoulder; with one hand he brushes her hair away from their faces, and with the other he works her clit relentlessly. “Arthur,” she sobs, desperately trying to breathe. “Arthur, please, Arthur.” As he pulls her apart with one hand, the other goes to her throat, the necklace there in reminder of who she is, how far they’ve come. He squeezes, just so, and Merlin comes undone in his arms, his name on her lips.

She trembles with aftershocks, every nerve ending on fire, and Arthur holds her close. When her ears stop ringing, Merlin realises Arthur has been murmuring into her ear. “Such a good girl for me, Merlin. So proud to call you my Queen. Such a lovely girl.”

Merlin slowly opens her eyes to find that the crowd has disappeared. She is thankful for this, so that they don’t see her shivering in the aftermath, trying to stitch herself back together. The bonfire burns a little less brightly than it did when she first awoke, hours ago. “How long... where...?”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Arthur says, kissing her cheekbone. “It’s alright.” One arm is wrapped protectively over her belly, and his cock twitches inside her where it continues to soften.

“Can you...?” Merlin manages, and Arthur reads her mind, shifting so that he can pull himself free from her. He settles her back in place, peppering kisses along her neck.

Merlin’s eyes slide to where the other couple lie, Leon draped over Morgana, the other sorceress panting and looking up at the stars, spent.

“Where did the crowd go?” Merlin asks, scanning the darkness. “They went so quickly.” Not a single bystander remains.

“What crowd?”

Merlin furrows her brow, turning to Arthur, who looks at her with innocence plain on his face. “Didn’t you see? There were...” she blinks and shakes her head. “I’m sure there were people watching.”

“Other than Morgana and Leon?” Arthur says softly. “You must still be tired. I’ll send for George to get us back to the meadow, so I can put you to bed.”

Merlin turns her head at this, frowning. As she does so, she meets Morgana’s gaze where she now stands, adjusting her dress.

 _You were dreaming about fucking in front of a crowd earlier. I thought I’d make it come true, for you at least_.

Morgana winks, and then turns back to Leon, taking him by the hand and pulling him from the clearing and into the forest.

Merlin shivers, withdrawing her magic back inside herself, suddenly cold.

“Everything alright?” Arthur picks up his tunic, tugs it over Merlin’s head. Even with her belly, it fits her with room to spare, and she wears it like she would a nightshirt.

She nods, and then lets herself laugh. “Morgana will be with child by midsummer, if she isn’t already, and will be showing by Lughnasadh.”

Arthur eases Merlin to her own knees instead of being sat in his lap, so he can turn her and face her properly, pulling his breeches up. “A vision?” he asks, his voice light.

“No,” she says, laughing fully this time. “Plain common sense. She’s besotted with Leon, can’t you see? You need to make sure you have enough coin in the coffers for a royal wedding.”

Arthur groans good-naturedly. “Another? But marrying _you_ just cost Camelot most of last year’s coin,” he says, pressing their foreheads together.

Merlin beams. “Maybe you should love me less.”

Arthur’s laugh in response is low and rich. “Don’t ask impossibilities of me, Merlin.”

Merlin kisses him sweetly. If there’s one thing she knows for certain, it’s that Arthur will love her – and their son – until the end of time.

**Author's Note:**

> This fills **mind control** on my trope bingo card. 1/25.


End file.
